Second Partner
by Late Night Iridescence
Summary: Komatsu truly comes to understand not all Kings are treated equally. Zebra/Komatsu


So, I started writing this a loooong time ago, even before _Concession_, and then got writer's block. Since canon wrecked my dream of a dual partnership, think of this as a 'what if' fic.

_second partner_

It was the frightened shouts of the manager that drew a curious Komatsu from the kitchen of Hotel Gourmet. Only as he stepped through the swinging double doors did he notice the sweat trying valiantly to drip into his eyes; he'd gotten caught up in his work again, too busy cooking to realize just how exhausted he had become. Komatsu shook out his cramping arms, wiped his forehead on one rolled up sleeve, and went to see what the hubbub was about.

The restaurant was near enough to closing that the dining hall stood empty, a few tables littered with trays of dirty plates left abandoned by the waiters gathered around the manager. The man was sweating more heavily than Komatsu, face deathly pale and hands trembling spasmodically. He slumped against two of the waiters. A third fanned him with a spare tray.

"What's wrong?" Komatsu had never seen him so rattled, not even the first time they served Toriko. The man looked as if he'd seen a monster.

He turned to Komatsu, eyes wild, and gasped, "_Zebra!_ Zebra is waiting outside right this moment!" A shudder traveled through the group of waiters, and Komatsu heard several shaky inhales from behind. Other chefs were emerging from the kitchen.

"Really?" Komatsu peered at the closed front doors. "He's a little early."

When he glanced back, everyone was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head and sprouted wings. Komatsu startled, unsure as to why -

"Ah! I forgot to mention inviting Zebra-san for a meal after closing." Smiling, he started towards the doors, intent on letting Zebra in. Not that the bishokuya should have been left waiting in the first place. Komatsu frowned, surprised by the manager's lack of professionalism.

"What?" someone croaked.

Komatsu hesitated beside the tables he'd pushed together for Zebra's visit. "There isn't enough space in my apartment to feed a Heavenly King." He really needed to look into getting a bigger kitchen now that he had both Toriko _and_ Zebra to cook for. Maybe just a bigger apartment in general.

All he got in reply was another "What?"

"Zebra-san provided the ingredients himself. I'm doing this on my own time, so why don't you head home?" Komatsu suggested gently, addressing the manager directly. "You look unwell." Actually, _everyone_ looked sick. Komatsu was getting worried.

He'd told Zebra to come late, when the staff had already left, intending to use the kitchen after hours as he had during the six months he spent working night and day on the Century Soup. Komatsu could lock up with his own set of keys, a perk of being Head Chef. A trusted, well liked Head Chef.

It occurred to him that he'd seen this sort of behavior in conjunction with Zebra's presence before, when they'd first disembarked from their rented house into the desert town.

Not sick, but scared.

…Perhaps he wasn't as trusted he'd thought.

No one tried to stop him as Komatsu yanked open the front doors with slightly more force than necessary. He heard a stampede of feet rushing towards the relative safety of the kitchen. Everything Komatsu could hear, Zebra could hear a hundred times more acutely.

What was it like, Zebra's hulking form slumped alone in the hall, unwittingly listening to the fear-sped flutter of panicked hearts he'd done nothing to deserve? A meaninglessly upsetting thought; Zebra must be used to it, but Komatsu was not. He hoped Zebra wouldn't misinterpret the quiet hitch in his breathing as fright.

"Zebra-san," he said, when the doors had swung noiselessly on their hinges to reveal his friend leaning casually against the far wall beside a richly green potted fern. The smirk he received in return brought a genuine smile to Komatsu's lips. "Sorry for the wait."

Zebra grunted and pushed away from the wall. His cheek was sewn up exactly as Komatsu requested, the stitchwork sloppier than Toriko's own attempts. This was the first time Komatsu had seen Zebra in a suit; with his hair slicked back, collar flat, and tie respectably straight, Zebra appeared considerably less intimidating than during their first meeting. He was surprised the manager recognized him at all.

"It's good to see you," Komatsu added.

"Good for _you_. Those other guys are shittin' themselves." A rough laugh tumbled from Zebra's throat.

"Zebra-san…" Heart plummeting, Komatsu searched for the right words to apologize with. 'Sorry' just didn't feel sufficient. "I don't know how to -"

"Pink?" Zebra interrupted, pointing at Komatsu's chef uniform. "Aren't you chefs supposed to wear white?" His hand easily swallowed Komatsu's forearm as he lifted it for a closer look.

Komatsu's thoughts scattered in a million different directions at the warm touch, and he could do nothing but stand still as Zebra tugged perfunctorily at the fabric. "Eh? W-well, most chefs choose to wear w-white. Mine is pink b-because…" Oh god, he couldn't remember why. There was no stopping the rush of blood to his face, no way to keep the quickened throb of his heart from Zebra's sensitive ears.

His reactions were impossible to misinterpret this time. Zebra made it clear he knew Komatsu felt the opposite of afraid when the torn edge of his mouth curled upward, his fingers squeezing Komatsu's wrist carefully before letting go.

"Whatever. It suits you." Suddenly, Zebra grinned at the doors. "I'm hungry, kid. Get in there and feed me before those idiots call the cops."

"Why the police?" Komatsu asked, alarmed.

"They think I murdered you." Zebra snorted. "There's a bet on. One guy thinks I'm ripping out your intestines and saving your heart for dessert. Not bad." He was smirking again.

A drop of sweat rolled across Komatsu's cheek. "I didn't know they had such vivid imaginations," he muttered.

"Still, like hell I'd hurt that heart of yours after all the effort I put into keeping it beating." Zebra tilted his head to the side, and Komatsu shivered at the intimacy of Zebra actively listening for the _thump thump thump_ inside his chest.

"L-let's go, then. I don't want the food getting cold." Komatsu pushed open the doors, Zebra shouldering through after him.

The dining hall had been vacated except for the manager and two waiters who stood tight-lipped and rigid. Komatsu nearly asked how the manager managed to rope them into staying. A sizable bonus, most likely.

"It's really okay," he said. "The restaurant is closed now-"

The manager smiled fixedly. "Nonsense, Chef Komatsu. We must serve such an _esteemed_ guest to the best of our ability."

"They aren't leaving until I do, kid. That mustache bastard is worried he'll show up tomorrow and find his restaurant wrecked." Zebra chuckled, the deep rumbling badly startling the three unsuspecting men.

"Zebra-san wouldn't -" Komatsu said defensively, but Zebra waved a dismissive hand.

"Ignore 'em. Just bring the food."

Komatsu nodded, drawing out a chair at the tables he'd prepared. When Zebra was seated, he hurried into the kitchen to retrieve the first heavily laden cart of covered dishes.

He wasn't sure if he was entirely pleased the manager chose to stay. At least he'd recovered the bare minimum of his professionalism, even if it was only from misguided fear. Komatsu's conditions were initially enough to keep Zebra in line. Pure friendship seemed enough now; Zebra wouldn't, in a fit of rage, destroy anything so important to Komatsu as his workplace even without the conditions. Of that he was certain.

Why the temperamental bishokuya held such a soft spot for him, Komatsu could only guess. Though honestly, if Zebra kept _touching_ him he'd have to assume…what he may or may not have been assuming since the day Zebra presented his conditions.

Maybe he should have informed his colleges of his new status as a dual partnered chef.

As Komatsu passed the door that lead to the back room - where those who needed to left their things in lockers - he heard low muttering. A face appeared in the little window, peering out anxiously, before the door swung open and Jeffery, one of Komatsu's chefs, stuck his nose around the corner.

"Is Zebra-sama still here?

"Yes," Komatsu answered, looking pointedly at the cart, "and he will be for quite some time."

"Oh." The door eased shut.

No one left, Komatsu realized. Every single member of the staff still working when Zebra arrived was huddled in the back, too afraid to file out past him to reach the only exit.

_They're overreacting_, he thought, but were they really? Even with Toriko shielding him from possible physical violence, the fact remained that Komatsu had been legitimately frightened of Zebra until witnessing him - incidentally - save a child, until being told the story behind Zebra's imprisonment and then wholeheartedly protected by that same man…none of the men and women here had those experiences to rely on. His time spent with Zebra was unique.

The logic behind this didn't stop him from feeling guilty.

So it was with slumped shoulders he began placing steaming plates before his partner. Zebra gave him a cursory glance but said nothing, much to Komatsu's relief, instead turning his full attention to the food.

Komatsu lost himself in the rhythm of serving Zebra. Doing his best to indulge Zebra's preference for meat, he'd prepared many protein based dishes, balancing it out with vegetables and fruit with hardier tastes. One course included a zucchini lasagna layered with a purée of neo tomato and cheddar beef from the highest quality cheese cow. It contained all the richness of fine cuts of pork; no meat lover could complain.

Suddenly, Zebra's hand came down on his head, stopping Komatsu from returning to the kitchen. One of the waiters stifled a gasp.

Komatsu craned his neck back to meet the bishokuya's eyes. "What's wrong, Zebra-san?"

"Sit down a take a break, kid," Zebra said. "You aren't on the clock."

True, but it _seemed_ like he was, with the manager continuing to watch warily and the hiding staff. His calves and shoulders ached; he'd working his regular hours, cooked for Zebra, and now served him alone, something he'd yet to do with a meal this size. When it was Toriko, he had plenty of help.

Zebra could tell he was tired - had probably heard Komatsu steal a moment to crack his spine while fetching a cart - but he just wanted to finish up, take Zebra back to his apartment, away from this awkward atmosphere, so they could relax. Komatsu was doubly glad he'd had the foresight to make dessert the night before and store it in his fridge at home.

"Er," Komatsu started, shifting minutely on his toes, Zebra's grip tightening in response. Apparently he was caught. "There's nowhere for me to sit." He'd put a single chair at the head of the table.

The hand on his head moved to his waist, and then he was being _picked up_ as if he weighed nothing, deposited on Zebra's lap - high on Zebra's thigh, his legs spread to dangle on either side, and when he braced himself on his palms Komatsu could feel iron hard muscle rippling under the material of Zebra's pants - and a loud thump echoed through the room. Someone had passed out.

Komatsu was kind of surprised it wasn't him. Blood rushed to his face, heating the tops of his ears and nape of his neck. His hands, now damp with sweat, slipped upwards until his fingers were trapped by the crease where Zebra's leg met his body. God, if he'd slid sideways instead…

His heart rate spiked at the realization he was nearly touching something emphatically _not_ a leg. Just three inches to the left and his hands would be _between_; Komatsu lifted his face to Zebra's, who stared back evenly, gaze dark and heavy. Eyes raked over his lips, and Komatsu may as well have been naked for all the protection his clothes offered him from the bishokuya's hunger.

Heat shot through Komatsu, fingertips clutching convulsively at the edge of his suit jacket as Zebra dipped his head and oh _god_ was he planning on, was he really going to -

A purposeful cough abruptly reminded Komatsu they weren't alone. He jerked, wiggling towards Zebra's knee and swinging a leg over so his feet angled away from his partner, the hand trailing down his back grudgingly halting in its path. Apron bunched in his own lap, Komatsu made to hop down. A firm grip on his hip restrained him.

"Take a break," Zebra repeated, voice a gruff purr that turned Komatsu's mind to what may have - no, _would_ have - transpired if they were alone. "You," he barked at the manager, currently the only other person in the dining hall, "get me some beer."

Before Komatsu could offer to do it himself, the balding man bowed low, bug-eyed as he glanced at the places Zebra cradled his best chef close. Zebra returned to his food, hand draped across Komatsu's knees now he was certain Komatsu had no intention of getting down. Komatsu tried and failed to glare fiercely enough to broadcast his displeasure. He got a smirk in answer.

The manager reappeared carrying a glass mug overflowing with light golden liquid and creamy froth. As he approached their table with the drink, hands shaking so harshly beer almost sloshed over the sides, Zebra suddenly grinned full on, mouth curving open with such force the stitches holding his cheek closed were yanked loose, exposing the wet shine of his gums and sharp teeth.

"Took you long enough," he said.

To his credit, the manager emitted only one short squeak before bowing hastily and disappearing into the kitchen. This time, he did not come out.

"Zebra-san!" Komatsu reproached, smacking gently at his partner's nose - the highest part of Zebra he could reach from his sitting position - with his palm. "What was that about?"

Zebra snatched the hand away from his face, his glare decidedly more effective than Komatsu's own. _Don't get cocky_. Flinching slightly on instinct, Komatsu tugged his arm free, laced his fingers together, and patiently stared up at the bishokuya until he began talking.

"I hate pussies almost as much as I do liars. How the hell did you even come to work here?" So Zebra was rapidly becoming fed up with the staff, people who Komatsu wished with all his heart left at closing. If _only_ Zebra had shown up half an hour later. "They're useless on top of it all. I'm your fucking partner."

The _and they should be helping you serve me_ went unsaid. Komatsu heard it anyway. By all rights the presence of a Heavenly King, even after closing, would prompt the restaurant into action; exactly how this would've gone if it were Toriko, Coco, or Sunny eating here.

Just another thing to make his chest clench.

Then it occurred to Komatsu that Zebra had spoken of himself as his _partner_, not a Heavenly King. It brought him full circle to his earlier thought of Zebra being used to this sort of behavior; yet if Zebra was accustomed, why would he be angry? Unless -

Oh.

_Oh._

Zebra was mad not, as Komatsu originally assumed, at the way _he_ was being treated, but because he regarded these reactions as _Komatsu_ being disrespected by the people he worked with.

Toriko wouldn't stand for it. Neither, apparently, would Zebra.

"Oh," Komatsu said aloud, gazing up at Zebra with a stupidly soppy expression. He spared another thought for their unfortunate audience and the kiss Zebra leaned down to take, no longer caring how small his own kitchen was: next time, they were doing dinner at his apartment.

"Forget it. Bring me more food." Zebra nudged Komatsu over the side of his leg. His thumb rubbed at the sloped juncture of Komatsu's neck and shoulder.

Komatsu nodded, smiling fondly as his feet hit the floor. Fine with him. The sooner Zebra finished, the sooner they could get out of here. Even as Komatsu blushed at the suggestive turn their evening had taken - at how boldly he considered it all, how eagerly he looked forward to the coming hours - his steps quickened until he took the kitchen doors at a virtual run.

There were four carts left. He pushed them out two at a time, though that didn't work out quite as well as he'd hoped - the second two managed to interlock their front wheels, jerking to a halt and catching him in the ribs with the curved parts of their handles. Winded, he struggled to maneuver them apart, and when the carts finally separated they slid forward, stealing his balance. He ended up in a heap on the floor, Zebra laughing uproariously in the background.

_If I'm injured by someone else, he flies into a rage_, Komatsu though dryly as he dragged himself up, using one of the carts as leverage. _But if I bang _myself _up it becomes entertaining. _Too bad what little grace he possessed abandoned him outside the kitchen.

Clumsiness wasn't the best trait to have when adventuring into the world's danger zones. Komatsu winced, remembering the time he'd nearly fallen into that scorpion pit during their effort to capture the puffer fish. Even in old lady Setsuno's kitchen. Better for his mental health not to think about the sheer number of times he'd have died if Toriko paid him a fraction less attention.

He felt almost pathetically grateful Toriko was emotionally invested in his continued safety. With Zebra now at his side as well, even the Gourmet World seemed a considerably less daunting prospect. He was almost looking forward to it. Almost.

Zebra continued to laugh as Komatsu loaded the last plates onto his table. The stitches in his cheek, gone slack after menacing the manager, were no longer holding the massive tear fully closed. The bishokuya was taking advantage, doubling the pace at which he ate by straining the stitches to their limit. Komatsu wrinkled his nose at the flecks of chewed food he could see spotting Zebra's teeth.

"You promised to keep your cheek sewn shut, Zebra-san," he admonished.

"Shut up, kid. You haven't done anything about your pig nose either."

Komatsu poked forlornly at his nose. Was it really so terrible? "My nose is _attached_. What exactly would you have me do?"

Their bickering carried on until Zebra cleared the last dish. Komatsu stacked the plates on a cart, took a deep breath, and turned to his partner. "Will you wait for me downstairs? I need to change."

"What, no dessert?" Zebra twitched his head, reading the snag of Komatsu's breath. "Unless we're going back to your place, kid."

Not trusting himself to speak, Komatsu nodded. He'd forgotten they were heading to his apartment with a high chance - a very high, _extraordinarily_ high chance - of engaging in…acts. Naked acts.

Zebra was leering and _not helping _with his sudden flush of embarrassed excitement, so Komatsu grabbed the carts and hightailed it back to the kitchen, mumbling an assurance he wouldn't be long.

Someone had done the other dishes - probably the manager - and Komatsu loaded the few remaining dirty plates into the dishwasher with relief. He'd worry about the rest of it tomorrow. Walking into the back room, preoccupied with the last minute preparations he needed to complete before serving the sour cherry black forest cake, as well as which wine to pour along with it, Komatsu made it all the way to his locker and halfway through dialing in the code for his deadlock before the questioning stares zeroes in on the back of his head registered.

Having walked in on dead silence, the scuffle of several people stepping towards him at once made him jump.

"Yes?" He voice was practically a squeak, the kind heard from teenage boys hitting puberty. Cross fingers Zebra wouldn't mock him for it later.

"Is Zebra-sama gone?"

Komatsu blinked in surprise. For the last half an hour Zebra kept him distracted, and the reason he needed to hurry had fled in the face of what was clearly their unique form of flirting. He smiled ruefully. The man could be so sly when he had to be; another thing Komatsu wasn't quite used to. Yet. But it was something he found himself taking from this - a partnership that encouraged and sharpened his wits, one that allowed for a shedding of his previous meekness. He was certainly less naïve than before he'd met Zebra, and _unfathomably_ less than before Toriko.

In his own way, Komatsu had become stronger. It felt like a debt he couldn't repay; not unless he took his cooking far beyond the six star ranking he'd managed to achieve. If his dream of being acknowledged as world class came to pass, it would be not just for his own happiness, his own pride, but for his partners' as well. May, perhaps, come to pass _because _of them.

How many chefs were in a position to enter the Gourmet World? The ingredients there would either break his abilities or give him the chance to grow.

"He is," Komatsu confirmed, careful to keep his tone neutral. Zebra could have interpreted his request to wait outside any number of ways: outside the restaurant, outside the hotel, in the park down the street. If they happened to meet Zebra and the bishokuya got scary, well. They sort of deserved it.

A series of bangs and scrapes echoed off the walls as a his co-workers surged toward the exit. Komatsu began unbuttoning his uniform as the door swung shut on the excited chatter. For a moment it was blissfully quiet, and then a throat was cleared to get his attention. Jeffery and three other chefs had stayed behind, and it was clear they had something to say.

"Aren't you eager to get home?" Komatsu asked, hearing resignation creep into his voice. He continued undressing, shrugging off his uniform and folding it neatly before switching it out for his favorite hoody.

Jeffery wrung his hands nervously, but said, "We'd like a word with you first, Head Chef."

"About what?" As if he didn't already know. He sighed, slapped the lock back into place, and turned to face his co-workers.

"About Zebra-sama." The chefs darted glances at the door as if expecting the bishokuya to come bursting through at the mention of his name. Under any other circumstances, Komatsu wouldn't put it past him. "Did, er, did Toriko-sama introduce you?"

Komatsu nodded, deciding against elucidating on the where and how of that particular 'introduction'. "Why do you ask?"

"You hold great respect for Toriko-sama. We know that you want to please Zebra-sama because he's another Heavenly King, maybe even Toriko-sama's friend. But surely he'll understand if you refuse just this once, right? Zebra-sama is a criminal, Head Chef. A dangerous man. He could turn on you without any warn-"

It stung a little, slamming a shaking hand against the lockers with all the strength he possessed, but it was worth it to watch the chefs startle like spooked animals. Komatsu wasn't prone to anger; he had a hard time finding it within himself to be roused by insults directed at himself. Even so, there was only so much he could stand when those insults were meant for someone he cared for.

"Go home." When Jeffery opened his mouth to protest, Komatsu cut him off instantly. "Don't ever speak of Zebra-san in such a way again. Not where I can hear, not where _anyone _can hear."

"Head Chef-!"

Komatsu checked his pockets for his keys and cell phone, readying to leave. "That 'criminal', as you call him, is the only reason I'm alive. Zebra-san has more than earned my trust. And by now, you should have learned to trust me."

"We do, Head Chef!" Jeffery said, stepping forward pleadingly." We do, but Zebra-sama-"

"Is my partner," Komatsu finished. "All I wanted was to cook for my partner."

They were outright gaping at him now. "Isn't Toriko-sama your partner?"

"He is. They both are." Breathing ragged, Komatsu headed for the door, giving Jeffery and the others a wide berth. He wondered if Zebra was as furious as he felt, hearing a person attempting to convince Komatsu to break their promise.

As he pushed the door open, he spoke without looking away from the dining room. "You'll be seeing Zebra-san again. Please get yourselves under control before then."

As Komatsu strode from the restaurant, his anger drained away, leaving him worn out and numb. He pressed the down button to call the elevator and let his head thump quietly to rest on the wall as he waited. Implication he'd be inviting Zebra again aside, Komatsu wasn't sure if he could bring himself to go through with it. It was probably the most ridiculous thought he'd had all evening, but in this moment all he wanted was to hide Zebra from every whispered, judgmental word. Stupid - as if Zebra needed protecting.

No one joined Komatsu on his ride down, for which he was grateful. He smiled halfheartedly when the receptionist waved at him. Outside, he inhaled in a lungful of fresh air and started searching for his partner. The man had to be nearby.

A strange pressure, not unlike that of a balloon bursting, and then Zebra's voice sounded beside his ear, as clear as if the bishokuya was standing at his back. _Over here, kid._

Zebra sat on a bench half a block away, glowering at anyone who dared look at him twice and successfully driving pedestrian traffic across the street. Men and women on their way home from work, maybe off on a pub crawl with their friends or just enjoying the city at night; all looked rather alarmed at the presence of the massive man in their neighborhood, whether or not they recognized him as Zebra of the Heavenly Kings.

His fierce scowls were compounded by the removal of those loosened stitches, torn cheek now a prominent feature that drew the eye. His tie had gone the way of the stitches, tucked into a pocket somewhere, and his sleeve were rolled back to expose scarred arms. With strands of hair falling across his forehead, Zebra looked positively rumpled. The affect was quite charming. Komatsu might be the only one in the world to consider him so, but that hardly bothered him. Preferred it, in fact.

Zebra remained seated when Komatsu approached, so the chef hopped on onto the bench beside him. The arm Zebra had draped over the edge of the slatted wood pressed warmly against his neck. Komatsu doubted his partner meant it to be soothing, but he took comfort in the solid weight. Zebra was looking at him, observing and listening for the cues his body unwittingly offered to the bishokuya's heightened sense. Komatsu kept his eyes fixed firmly on the sidewalk.

"Oi. What's your problem?" A finger prodded impatiently at Komatsu's shoulder.

Aware Zebra had little tolerance for bullshit, Komatsu quit stalling and threw himself bodily at his partner, eyelids crammed tightly shut to hold the budding sting of tears at bay. Zebra tensed, frozen as Komatsu fisted his jacket with white knuckled fingers and buried his face against Zebra's broad chest to conceal his strained expression.

"You know I don't think of you like that, right? A criminal, as someone to fear and avoid…you've got to know I'm not afraid!" His words were muffled by the black material, but Komatsu was depending on those sensitive hell ears to pick them out. "Our promise isn't one I'll ever break. I want to stay with you and Toriko no matter what!"

Muttering under his breath something that sounded very much like _I'll fuckin' kill those bastards_, Zebra forcefully clamped Komatsu's waist between his hands and tugged him away, not far enough for Komatsu to relinquish the death grip on his suit but enough that Zebra could meet his eyes.

"Don't get your damn snot on my clothes," he growled, proceeding to wipe roughly at Komatsu's dripping nose and damp cheeks despite his protest. Komatsu mumbled an apology, cut off by a thumb stroking along his bottom lip and Zebra's mouth slanting over his. His tongue immediately demanded entrance Komatsu was helpless to refuse, and soon he was swept up in the single most dominating kiss he'd ever experienced.

Zebra was all over him, one hand spread wide to engulf the span of his back, the other curled around his thigh so blunt nails dug into his ass, both crushing him to Zebra's larger form. The slick, deceptively agile tongue in his mouth twisted and urged Komatsu's own to follow along with the pace Zebra set. When Komatsu pushed back, unwilling to be completely submissive, Zebra retreated, allowing the chef to explore his mouth in return.

Komatsu groaned at this unexpected display of passivity. He wound stray locks of red hair through his fingers and hauled Zebra closer still, tossing aside his shyness in a surge of desire and simply going for it, curious to taste the food he'd so painstakingly cooked in a thrilling new manner. He did, and it wasn't a flavor he'd soon forget, this blend of his personal spices and a bitter tang that was all Zebra.

It was only when Zebra cupped his ass and squeezed that Komatsu reluctantly broke the kiss, panting for air. He touched the pad of a finger to his lips, hot and swollen and bruised, and noticed with fascination that Zebra followed the movement intently.

"You're wearing pink again," Zebra said, and on the list of what Komatsu expected to hear after their spontaneous kiss, it came pretty close to the bottom. "Not that I give a shit."

And Komatsu suddenly understood what Zebra couldn't outright bring himself to say. "Because it suits me?"

"Hn," Zebra agreed.

"Like I suit you?" More a statement of fact than a question. Komatsu rarely felt confident about things, but this…this was one of them. Still, he ducked his head shyly as blood pooled in his cheeks.

There were fingers sneaking beneath his hoody, rubbing at the skin of his hip. "Right on the money, kid."

And _oh yeah_, they were in public, and there was food to be eaten before this went any farther. "We should go to my apartment. Dessert," Komatsu reminded him, squirming out of Zebra's hold and doing his best to ignore the gawking stares of passersby. "You haven't tried my Century Soup yet either. You're missing out, Zebra-san."

After tonight he was really, really going to need a bigger bed.

* * *

><p>AN - Zebra isn't as tsundere as he should be, but in my defense this is Zebra when:

1) Toriko isn't around

2) he's going to get laid and knows it

Bad excuses. But I started writing this before we were shown just how tsundere Zebra is.

I'm considering eventually whipping up an epilogue or part two for this, where we get to see what happens after they get to Komatsu's apartment. Give me a little bit more time before I start with the porn kthxbai. (But soon, very soon. Keep your eyes on the M filter. *is a perv*)

Also, sorry that the foods I described in here are so lame. I'm bad bad bad at coming up with stuff like that because I can't cook myself. -_-


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